True Colors
by SimoneSez
Summary: Pam's and Bill's lives are in danger and Ralph needs to save the day again... but where's the suit?  Time for Ralph to find out if that bravery is all wrapped up in red spandex, or if he's really a hero on his own.
1. Chapter 1

A/N – This is a story I wrote several years ago. My goal was to write a GAH story that would read like an actual episode of the series. With the recent demise of Stephen J. Cannell, the "brains" behind this and many other great TV shows, I thought I'd put it up here for other fans of the show to read. Hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from _The Greatest American Hero._

Midnight in a downtown office building is normally no place to find excitement, and the FBI headquarters in Los Angeles was no exception. The only signs of life were a lone guard at his post in the lobby by the elevators and the faint glow of light from the closed-circuit television system on the desk in front of him. Views of the rest of the building alternated with views of the parking lot; hallways, offices, all deserted, all silent. The television screen was silent too, but it didn't make any difference to the guard – his attention was firmly focused on the small transistor radio strapped to his belt, and the lightweight headphones firmly over his ears. A squad of patrol cars, sirens blasting, could have raced by in front of the building and Eric McAdams wouldn't have known about it. He was far more interested in the current state of affairs at the forty-yard line.

The front door opened with the rattle of many keys and the next shift arrived with its usual precision. One might have been tempted to give Greenwich its mean time from the schedule of the security staff in this building. The relief man approached McAdams with an exaggerated wave, motioning to him to remove his earphones and let himself in on the events taking place away from the gridiron. McAdams did so with reluctance.

"What's the situation?"

"Third down, score's tied."

The man behind the polished name badge that read 'Aaronson' shook his head and pointed to the log. "That's great, kid. How 'bout the rest of the free world?"

McAdams handed him a clipboard with the building sign-in sheet attached and regretfully switched his radio off. "I got a week's pay riding on this one."

"Way to go." Aaronson wasn't particularly interested in what McAdams had to say. Partly from his total indifference to organized sports in general, but mostly from his basic indifference to McAdams himself. He took the clipboard and signed his name on the bottom line; McAdams signed his above. They exchanged keys, McAdams collected his few belongings and moved off toward the elevators. McAdams gave his relief a quick wave before leaving. Aaronson offered a half-hearted response. Kids… just kids, that's all they ever were anymore.

As soon as McAdams was safely on his way… to catch the rest of the time-delay gave on the nearest sports channel, he'd wager… Aaronson swiftly removed a pair of very sharp, very shiny wire clippers from his uniform pocket. He moved down the hall to the inner offices, pausing at the door of Room 204, where the template read 'Regional Director/Lester Carlisle'. That was it. And if it was locked…

Why even consider the possibility? Aaron noticed in a moment that not only was the door not locked, it wasn't even latched all the way. All he'd had to do was give it a quick nudge to test the thickness of the door in case he'd _had _to force it, which wasn't likely given the likes of Eric McAdams and his transistor oblivion, and it had swung open as easily as a loose door on a men's room stall. This really was too easy. Perhaps he'd give Rahim a refund on this job. He certainly wasn't earning his night's pay.

The desk was his target… as quickly as he'd taken the clippers from his pocket, in one swift stroke he'd disconnected the alarm buzzer located under the top right desk drawer. Done. Aaronson left the office exactly as he'd found it otherwise, except for carefully closing the office door and locking it behind him. No sense letting anyone become unnecessarily suspicious.

In the agents' bullpen down the hall from Room 204, a rotating closed circuit camera panned back and forth, giving the viewer at the guard's section a perfect look at the entire area every thirty seconds. Aaronson waited until it had turned to show the other side of the room, then stepped up behind it and cut the wire to the oscillator. The camera continued to run, but showed only a sliver of the room and part of the blank wall it was attached to. He re-pocketed the clippers and surveyed the slight… oh, very slight… but important work he'd done. Yes, this was an excellent start.

**00o00**

Downtown Los Angeles in the middle of the morning is definitely a good place to find action. Particularly at the southwest corner of La Cienega at eleven-thirty when the area was in the middle of a very exciting and very noisy bank robbery. Gunfire burst from the front door of the modern-style building's front entrance in regular spurts, all aimed in the direction of a half-circle of squad cars that rimmed the area. One faded beige sedan punctuated the semi-circle of black and white. The local police, crouched behind their respective vehicles, stayed out of the line of fire, managing to return an occasional shot, but for now it was the holdup man's game.

Bill Maxwell crouched behind the door of a patrol car as close to the bank as he'd been able to get. The call had come over the radio just as he'd started for the office, and Bill, who possessed no love for either his desk or his superior, had pulled an impossible U-turn with his Government-issued Dodge in the middle of Santa Monica Boulevard and raced to join in the action.

He tried to edge around the car door to get a clear view of the bank entrance, but pulled back quickly when a bullet tore a chunk of metal out of the vehicle all too close to where his hand had been. Crouching down so he wouldn't be seen, Bill pulled a small two-way communicator from his suit pocket which he activated after making sure that he wouldn't be overheard by any of the nearby boys in blue.

"Ralph! Ralph, come in!"

Another bullet punched a hole in the driver's side window just above his head. Bill ducked closer to the ground. "Ralph, come _on, _PDQ… Ralph, willya come _in_?"

The back tire of the squad car blew apart, sending Bill all the way to ground, suspecting somehow that he might be in a little trouble. Any lower and he'd be below the yellow lines in the middle of the street. "Ralph!"

If Bill had looked up at that moment, which he wouldn't have felt was in his best health interests, he would have seen a large red blur careening through the air. Too big to be a bird, and too awkward to be an out-of-control traffic copter… it had to be Ralph, hurrying as fast as he could.

His landing, as usual, left something to be desired; he wound up spread-eagled on the roof of the bank, the breath knocked out of him. After a moment he scrambled to his feet and ran to the edge of the roof to get a handle on the situation. With a groan he realized that he didn't need a crystal ball.

Looking around for ideas, Ralph spotted a raised structure with a door in it, smack in the middle of the roof. He ran to the door, yanked it off its hinges, and found a flight of stairs leading down. Nothing was ever easy, he told himself. _Nothing_... especially if it involved Bill Maxwell.

Hurrying down the steps, Ralph found himself in a back hallway which branched off to the offices of the bank's bigwigs. After making sure there was no one to observe his movements, he exited the stairwell. Dressed for company, he wasn't. The suit always made him feel like a fool, all candy-apple red with a flowing cape that belonged on the shoulders of Clark Kent and not a high school teacher who only five minutes before had been standing in the express line of Stephen J's supermarket with his understandably annoyed wife.

From the sounds of shooting and occasional shouts, Ralph guessed that the would-be robber and his hostages were still in the main lobby of the bank. He came to another door and opened it a crack to find himself with a view of the lobby. A quick glance around the room revealed a half-dozen hostages lying face-down on the carpet while the would-be robber used a woman, in her mid-thirties from appearances, as a shield while he fired on the hapless police outside.

Ralph let the door close slowly with the slightest possible click, stepped back… and disappeared completely.

One of his newer powers, the invisibility didn't always work right, but today Ralph felt lucky. Besides, he had this one down better than the flight bit, even though he sometimes found himself fading in and out like a ten-cent light bulb. But this time he felt in control. _Concentrate, Ralph. Concentrate._

Out on the street Bill rapped the communicator against his palm a few times, convinced it wasn't working. Not a peep had emerged the whole time he'd been trying to raise Ralph. Usually the kid at least replied before coming up with some cockamamie excuse why he couldn't come right away. Usually. _We got to work on your attitude, Ralph, _Bill vowed… _once I get out of here._

He stuffed the communicator back in his pocket and readied his gun again. A pause in the gunfire let him poke his head around the door to see what the heck was going on. With a curse he lowered his gun. The man had one of his hostages as a shield. No wonder everyone had stopped firing.

Inside the bank, Ralph advanced on the robber, relishing the sheer sneakiness of it all. He paused a mere eight inches away and called out, "Hi, sailor!"

The man spun toward the unexpected voice and Ralph took full advantage of the move to disarm him quickly, wresting the gun out of his hands and sending him spinning head over heels through the air. When the shaken woman who had been used as the shield gathered enough presence of mind to turn around, she found her captor sprawled across one of the windows under a sign that said 'Next Window Please'. She turned next to her fellow hostages for an explanation, but they were just raising their faces from the carpet. No one had actually seen what had happened.

Two uniformed officers charged into the room using the same door Ralph had used, while two more came in through the front door with Bill close on their heels. Still staring around wide-eyed, the woman sunk into a nearby chair, while another of the hostages, a man in his fifties, came up to her with a proud smile.

"Judith!" he beamed, taking her limp hands in his. "You handled that superbly."

Judith's eyes finally focused. "Uh… thank you, Mr. Randall…"

"I had no idea our hold-up prevention instruction included that kind of training. Congratulations, Employee of the Month!"

The woman's co-workers crowded around her, offering up a round of applause. Judith and Bill, who had remained in the background, glanced at the hold-up man who had just been hauled to his feet by the uniformed officers and was being cuffed. Judith still had no idea what had happened, but Bill did. The prisoner weighed at least two hundred pounds. There was no way this Judith could have thrown him.

Holstering his gun, Bill stepped back from the appreciative crowd. "Okay, Ralph," he squeezed through his teeth. "Front and center."

He kept moving until he came to the end of the line of tellers' cages, idly righting the 'Next Window' sign that had been smashed in the fray.

Without warning Ralph popped into living color beside him, giving Bill a start that thirty minutes of continuous gunplay hadn't managed. "For pete's sake, wouldya…" Bill grabbed a handful of curly blond hair and shoved his friend down behind the counter.

Ralph pushed his head back up just far enough to make eye contact with Bill. "That's all the thanks I get?" he demanded.

Bill gave him another push and Ralph bobbed back up like a spring. "Do you know what it's like trying to look nonchalant in the checkout line when a voice screaming for help suddenly comes out of your coat pocket?"

"Keep your voice _down, _please…" Bill ordered, nervously glancing around to make certain they hadn't been observed.

Ralph hadn't finished. "So I leave Pam in the ten-item express line… with _twelve _items… and I leave my clothes underneath a delivery truck which is probably at this moment dragging my best tie all the way back to the warehouse, and I come here, save all these people and what do I get?"

"Will you shut up?" Bill's strengths in law enforcement had never included an abundance of tact.

"There," Ralph nodded. "You see? Right there. That's what I'm talking about. I go through all that to get here, and they don't even know who saved the day. They think _she _did it. _She _thinks she did it. They all think she took that guy and threw him halfway across the room."

"I just lost a collar to a bunch of rookie yo-yos who probably stay up late at night to catch _Dragnet _re-runs," Bill reminded him. "You think I like that? And what took you so long anyway? I coulda been cat food out there in the street while you and the Counselor were clipping coupons."

"If you think you're not happy now, I think you'd better take a look at Pamela to see what unhappy really looks like," Ralph countered. "Right now she's probably taking all my razor blades and aftershave and throwing them under the truck that's got my best tie wrapped around the camshaft…"

"Wouldya not play that record again?" sighed Bill. "I got tickets for the Rams game this afternoon. I don't wanta stand here arguing all day. You been gettin' a little sloppy lately, the ol' response time is right down there in the sewer."

For one mad moment Ralph wondered if the little green guys who'd given him the supersuit in the first place would mind if he used one of his many unusual talents to make Bill clam up until he was finished speaking. "Didn't you hear anything I said?" he hissed. "I've got to get back to the market so I can try to save my marriage. Then I've got to go to a meeting at the school that I'll probably just barely make, if I'm lucky, and I have to change my clothes…"

Whatever Ralph would have said next was silenced when Bill shoved him down behind the counter, greeting one of the officers who was approaching. "I think you can take off now," the young cop said, opening his mouth to reveal a mouthful of orthodontia, mortally offending Bill with his next words. "Thanks for the back-up."

Bill glared at the younger man. "_Back-up_?" he repeated.

The kid gave Bill a friendly clap on the shoulder and walked away before Bill could think of anything else to say. He stared after the cop, his stomach roiling with unspoken anger, but he couldn't find the right words. _Back-up?_

Ralph emerged from his hiding place, smiling broadly, and slapped Bill on the shoulder. "Thanks for the back-up."

Bill gave him a look that could have wilted a plastic plant. "Get in the car."

"Whatever you say."

"Did you see that? That kid had more metal in his mouth than the train tracks between Frisco and L.A. He called me his _back-up_, Ralph."

Ralph snapped his fingers and vanished. Bill jumped again, hating himself for it, but Ralph's tendency to do whatever he felt like doing spooked him. The flying he could handle, as long as Ralph didn't have him slung over his shoulder, but that disappearing… that gave him the willies every time.

**00o00**

In Bill's miraculously intact sedan, less than half an hour later, they had managed to pick Pam up at the supermarket where she had been waiting at the curb. Pam shared the front seat with Bill while Ralph occupied the back, struggling back into his street clothes. An occasional arm or leg blocked Bill's rear view mirror, but he had stopped complaining about it several blocks back. He had other concerns.

Pam tipped a glance toward the back. "I found everything, honey, except the…"

"The tie," Ralph finished for her. "Yeah, I know. Figures."

"Willya quit harping about the tie," Bill snapped, making a right turn without signaling.

Pam turned her attention to the older man. "Bill, for once, just stay out of it. This is all your fault anyway."

"_My _fault?"

Ralph stuck his head above the seat, totally obscuring Bill's rear view. "Just drive, Bill. Drop me off at school and we'll argue later."

"Whaddya think this is?" Bill inquired snidely. "Yellow Cab? Maybe I should paint the fare chart on the door and stick a light on top?" Pam still stared at him coldly. "And I bet _you _want a ride home, Counselor?"

Pam forced a tight-lipped smile. "Why, thank you, Bill. It's so sweet of you to offer."

Ralph ducked back below the seat to finish changing while Bill adjusted his mirror. Somebody could be following them. "I gotta get back to the office. Somehow I gotta come up with a story for Carlisle that don't make me look like a blue-ribbon nitwit or he's gonna have me checkin' bananas for fruitflies in Tijuana."

"You and your bank robbery ruined our morning, Bill," said Ralph, now fully dressed. He rolled the red suit into a ball. "The least you can do is cooperate a little." There were two grocery bags on the seat beside him. Ralph moved the contents of one bag to the other, leaving one empty. He used the empty bag to collect a handful of tattered papers from the floor of the back seat. "Honey, my briefcase…?"

Pam cast her eyes skyward. "I'm sorry, Ralph. By the time I got there, the truck had…"

"Of course. Why not? With the tie. They were both gifts from my mother, but hey, that's okay. At least I didn't lose the notes too."

He stuffed the suit into the bag, not noticing when the communicator slipped out of the sleeve and fell to the floor of the sedan. "So I'll go into my journalism class looking like I've been sleeping in a bus station. I can always tell them I'm doing a story on the homeless and wanted to fit in."

Bill chuckled sarcastically. "You're breakin' my heart."

Pam watched her knuckles turn white as she clenched her purse. "Will you both knock it off? You're worse than a couple of kids."

Just then Bill pulled up in front of Whitney High School and Ralph opened the back door to get out. He leaned back in the front passenger window to give Pam a quick kiss. "I'll try to be home by five." He gave Bill a narrow-eyed glare. "Barring any complications, that is."

Bill shifted the car into drive. "Keep it up, Ralph."

"Stop it!" Pam exploded.

Ralph leaned back in to grab one of the brown bags from the back seat and slammed the car door closed.

Bill stepped on the gas without another word, jolting Pam back into her seat with the sudden acceleration. "Why do you do that?" she demanded.

"Do what?" Bill stared straight ahead.

"Talk to him like that. What possible purpose does it serve to always keep him one step away from telling you what you can do with that stupid suit?"

Bill shook his head. "I'm just tryin' to do what I've been doing from the beginning, Counselor; pull him into shape. We gotta face the fact that he's got a backbone of cream of wheat."

The tension had left Pam's knuckles and spread to her neck. "This isn't basic training."

"One of these days he's gonna thank me for it."

"Right." She counted to ten, refusing to sink to Maxwell's level in this war of words. Then, in a calmer tone, she asked, "Could you please give the mission of mercy a rest for the balance of the day? Twenty-four hours."

"It's for his own good."

She hadn't wanted to say more, but it looked like an explanation was the only avenue left open to her. "Look, it's his birthday, okay?"

"Is _that _why he's been so touchy today?"

"It couldn't possibly be connected with _you, _could it?" When her barb went right over Bill's head, Pam backed up and tried again. "I've been planning a surprise party for weeks, and by tonight he'll be so mad at you he won't enjoy it at all. Can't you please just give him a break until after the party?"

Bill considered her words. "You're way too soft on him, Counselor."

"I know, Bill," Pam nodded, her face too insincere to be for real. "I'm really sorry about that."

Her sarcasm went unappreciated. Bill was too wrapped up in his thoughts to be much of an audience for her. She scored herself a point in the ongoing duel and fell silent, unwilling to push her luck any further. Bill did have a tendency to tune her out, and, for once, she was grateful. She didn't dislike him; neither she nor Ralph would put it that way… but that _manner _of his always hit you like somebody running fingernails across a dry blackboard.

**00o00**

Another change of guard was taking place at the main office of the FBI. Aaronson waited patiently at his post in the guard station for his relief to arrive. Like clockwork, the third-shift guard appeared in the doorway and made his way to the desk.

"How's it going?" Aaronson inquired.

"Can't complain," the new man shrugged.

_Give the man a radio and he would be a perfect clone of the last one_, thought Aaronson as he handed his relief the sign-in sheet. When the man shifted his attention to the printout, Aaronson moved quickly to knock him unconscious with two quick martial arts moves. The guard collapsed like a cheap umbrella, but Aaronson caught him before he could hit the floor… to drag him to a nearby closet, not out of any driving concern for his victim's well-being.

After disposing of the guard, Aaronson turned in time to see the service entrance door open and four men enter the building. Young, handsome in a disturbing way… as disturbing as the guns they carried. Aaronson acknowledged only the obvious leader of the group as he stepped forward. "Rahim."

"Report." Rahim was a man of few words. When two would do, he would never use three.

"Everything is locked down."

"Your colloquialisms are charming." Rahim looked anything but charmed.

"Everything is in readiness," Aaronson corrected himself in a grudging tone… this was the part he didn't care for at all.

"I wonder if you recall the purpose of our mission," Rahim said icily.

"I have done my part," the man defended himself.

"See that you continue."

Rahim motioned toward the elevators. Aaronson nodded and moved off to cover them. With a nod, Rahim instructed his companions to follow him. Together, they moved toward the door of the stairway and Rahim pulled it open. With silent, practiced movements the men entered the stairwell, Rahim in the lead, while the door closed slowly behind them.


	2. Chapter 2

Upstairs, Pam and Bill emerged from the elevator. Pam carried the remaining grocery bag gingerly, away from her body. "We're only gonna be a couple minutes," Bill reminded her, holding the glass door open for her to precede him, much to her surprise.

"Bill, it's ninety degrees in the shade. I've got a half-gallon of pistachio ice cream here that I would like to serve tonight without straws." She stalked into the office, then paused, waiting for him to catch up. "Can I use your phone? I need to call the bakery and find out if the cake's ready."

"That's a federal phone," Bill protested.

"My tax dollars at work. I'll leave a quarter."

Bill motioned her to go ahead; Pam offered him another of her not-quite-sincere smiles and set the bag down on his desk. After a moment or two of digging, she found the bakery's business card in her wallet and began to dial from the United States Government Communications Device... otherwise known as a telephone.

There were a few other agents at nearby desks, one or two brown-bagging it, but it was lunchtime and many of the desks were empty. Bill followed Pam to his desk and grabbed a file from his out basket. He was crossing the room to file it away when Carlisle's voice pierced the relative quiet of the office, freezing him in mid-motion.

"Maxwell!" Lester Carlisle was a man of few words, that being one of his favorite curses.

Bill stiffened reflexively, sure he wasn't going to like whatever was about to happen. He turned slowly to face his superior. "Uhmmm... morning, Boss."

"That's right," Carlisle congratulated him. "That's exactly right. And do you know something, Maxwell? That's probably the only thing you'll get right today."

He knew. If Bill had had any doubts he could now put them to rest. Carlisle knew all about the fiasco downtown and the lost collar. He mentally counted to about two and a half, trying not to show his rising anger.

"My office, Maxwell, on the double. I want to hear your version of what happened this morning." He grinned smugly. "This should be good."

Pam, still on the phone, glanced Bill's way, as did everyone else in the immediate vicinity. She was amused to see Bill on the spot for once... it would probably do him good. The bakery picked up the line and she turned her attention back to her own business. "Hello, this is Pamela Hinkley; I ordered a birthday cake for my husband and I'd like to know when I can pick it up."

There was a sudden commotion at the entrance to the office as Rahim and his followers arrived on the scene. "Attention!" barked Rahim.

Bill, in Carlisle's office, was in no mood for interruptions. "Immigration's on the third floor, pal."

All four intruders displayed their handguns. Pam swallowed hard and whispered into the phone, "Um... I'll call you back..." She hung up the receiver slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves that could be misinterpreted.

"What is all this?" Carlisle asked, halfway between annoyance and nervousness.

"This building is now in the possession of the United Liberation Front," Rahim announced. "We require your complete cooperation and your..."

Bill took one aggressive step forward. "What kind of a..."

Rahim calmly adjusted the scope of his weapon to include Bill. "And your _silence_. This action is in the name of our captured warriors, who will be returned to us by eight o'clock this evening..." Rahim produced a hand grenade from the folds of his jacket. "Or we will all surrender our lives in the name of the oppressed."

Pam stared wide-eyed at the weapon. Bill's expression was more reminiscent of someone who'd just seen his vacation ruined by a hurricane. He looked more inconvenienced than anything else. "Oh, here we go..."

**00o00**

At Whitney High School, Ralph hurried along the corridor carrying the second grocery bag. A briefcase would definitely have added to his professionalism, but since he'd already failed tenure once so far this year, it wasn't as though he had a reputation to maintain. On the contrary, if Ralph Hinkley had anything in the way of a rep to hold up, it would be that of one of the most unreliable teachers Whitney High had ever had on the payroll. He sometimes felt that it was nothing short of a miracle that he still received a check every week. Once or twice he'd considered resigning, but upon reflection had come to the conclusion that his students were better off with a sometimes-absent Ralph Hinkley than many of the other instructors in the district who hadn't missed a day since Pearl Harbor.

He opened the door to his classroom and went in. _Can't be that late_, he thought, _Tony and Paco haven't even started to mix it up with that basketball yet. _As requested from the Audio-Visual Department, a television and VCR sat in front of the room on a cart.

As he walked to his desk, Ralph responded to the many and varied conversations in the room with a quiet, "Okay, settle down."

Rhonda, blonde pigtails sticking straight down her back like twin paintbrushes, raised her hand. "We gonna catch up on the soaps today, Mr. H.?" The rest of the class laughed, one or two of them whistled.

Ralph smiled his best patient smile, the one usually reserved for his most unruly students and Bill Maxwell. "No, Rhonda. This is a mass media course, and we're here to learn the fundamentals of journalism."

Speaking of unruly students, Tony Villicana spoke up. "You mean like the news and stuff?"

"News doesn't just appear on the TV screen every night, Tony. Didn't you ever wonder how news stories are conceived? Didn't you ever ask yourself, 'Hey, I wonder how that story was researched?'" The class gave him nothing but blank stares, and Ralph knew he was in danger of losing them. "Weren't you ever curious how Mike Wallace pulls the plug on all those shady businesses on _Sixty Minutes_?"

That sparked some interest. Ralph smiled and nodded. "Okay then, that's why we're here."

**00o00**

Rahim's first official act as the one in charge of the building was to disarm all the agents who still had their issue weapons on them. Bill handed his over with a dirty look and some reserve, but he did it quietly. Rahim moved on to Carlisle after disarming Bill, leaving the agent and Pam alone enough to converse in low tones without being overheard.

"I guess I can kiss that Rams game goodbye," was Bill's first insight into the situation.

"Gee, Bill, I bet they have no idea they're inconveniencing you this way," Pam said tightly. "Why don't you just let them know?"

"If Ralph gets a move on, maybe I won't have to."

_Ralph_… Pam thought wistfully. "Ralph doesn't even know we're here."

"Maybe he doesn't know it yet, but as soon as he can grab some vibes off something of yours, he'll be here like a shot. I just hope he makes it before kickoff."

Just like Bill to think of the operation he fondly referred to as "bag 'em and tag 'em", and it always involved Ralph and his holographic tricks. Pam turned away, exasperated. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the brown bag still sitting patiently on Bill's desk and remembered the party, and…

"My ice cream…" She crossed to the desk and opened the bag, for a moment too involved in her ruined party and melting dessert to consider the consequences should Rahim think she was making a move to escape. "Oh."

There wasn't any ice cream in the bag, in liquid or any other form. Pam did a double-take, unwilling to believe what she had found in its place. Bill noticed her expression. "For crying out loud, Counselor, it's only ice cream. I'm talkin' about missing the _Rams_."

Pam, bag in hand, returned to stand by the agent. "Ralph… Bill…"

"They're lookin' real good so far this year."

"Bill, Ralph isn't coming." Pam finally managed to put a complete sentence together.

"Whaddya mean, of course he's coming." Bill, as usual, wasn't listening.

Pam opened the bag and shoved it toward Bill. Under her silent urging he reached inside and pulled out a sleeve of Ralph's red suit. It took him a moment to fully appreciate what that meant. When he had it, he finally began to look worried. "Uh…"

They both looked toward the man adding Carlisle's sidearm to the steadily-growing pile of handguns on one of the vacant desks. Another of the terrorists was busying himself emptying out the ammo and dumping the shells into his pockets. Pressing his lips together, Bill assessed their predicament. "Uh oh…" was his final verdict.

Pam nodded, beginning to look more than a little scared. "Uh oh," she echoed.

At the other end of the office Rahim had commandeered the use of a telephone. "I want people from the news here," he instructed the person on the other end. "Yes." His face clouded with the speed of an oncoming freight train. "I will issue our demands to the press and only to the press! The choice is yours."

He slammed the phone down. From behind, his second in command spoke up. "If they do not come?"

"They will come," Rahim snaped, made angrier by the doubt in his lieutenant's voice. "We have what they want. We deal from strength."

Aram, an equally sinister-looking young man, was not deterred by his leader's sharp tone. "How long do we allow their stalls?"

"Patience." The way Rahim spoke, it was not a gentle word.

"We are only five," Aram pressed. "The element of surprise is vital to our plan of attack. We must strike soon."

Rahim drew himself up to his full height and waited for Aram's challenge to come to its conclusion. "Everything is well. Inform the police. Every floor but this one is to be evacuated."

"You would release those people? We should hold them all."

Aram was growing tiresome. Soon Rahim would have to demonstrate what happened to those who grew too tiresome. "You said yourself we are but five," he pointed out. "These federal agents are all the bargaining power we require. Do as you are told."

Aram gave him a grudging salute… almost a dare. "As you wish." He moved away, still regarding Rahim with the basic mistrust he had always had, but also a growing defiance. Perhaps Rahim was not so self-assured as he would have it known.

**00o00**

Ralph had managed to get the class more or less interested in the goings-on at the front of the room, namely his presentation. Rhonda gave the impression of paying close attention as she usually did, while Tony, Cyler and Paco were relatively involved if not rapt. Ralph knew that sooner or later one of them would make a sarcastic remark and that would be it… the class would be lost in wisecracks for the rest of the period. Not so bad as long as they learned something first.

"So," Ralph concluded, "in fact what goes on during the coverage of a news story can be as interesting and thought-provoking as the story itself. I have a tape here to show you of some footage…" Ralph trailed off and turned on the television set. The screen came to life as he searched for the On switch to the tape player, but before he found the Play button the kids were engrossed in the current live coverage of another story. The sound was off because Ralph was still having trouble with the controls. "Just a minute," he told the class, fiddling with yet another unmarked button on the console. "I think I've got it."

The kids were intent on the TV. "Hey, that's downtown," said Tony, pointing at the small screen on which a young woman reporter was standing on a street corner, microphone in hand, delivering a line of copy.

Rhonda perked in recognition. "That's Kimberly Welch. She does all those crime stories." She leaned across her desk to get as close to the TV as possible. "She's so _together_."

"Hey, turn it up, Mr. H.," Paco requested.

Ralph wanted to keep up the pace, but was fast coming to the conclusion that there was something wrong with the balky VCR. He reached up blindly to turn on the sound while continuing his losing battle. "Power on…" he mused to himself. "Right… now Play… wait a minute…"

From the TV came the voice of the newswoman. "At this moment it is still unclear," reported Kimberly Welch from her notes, "what they want and who they are."

"Darn this thing," Ralph added his own commentary. "I wish I had the instructions…"

The class offered him a group "shhhh!" which was less than appreciated by their teacher. On screen, Kimberly Welch continued to read.

"… and why have they taken control of the Los Angeles office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation?"

Ralph had been about to ask his students just what had caused them to gang up on him, but in that moment he not only had his answer, but was suddenly very involved as well. He gazed up at the screen from his crouched position.

That _was _the Federal Building over Kimberly's shoulder, no doubt about that. The camera zoomed in to catch a man with an automatic rifle standing guard at the front door. A shift to a wider angle, and blonde, tousle-haired Kimberly was back in frame. "Further developments as they occur… this is Kimberly Welch, KCNH News."

The station cut back to their studio, where a preppy-type with plastic hair began to reiterate everything their field reporter had just said. Cyler let out a low whistle. "Hey, get that."

"Hey, you were right, Mr. H.," Rhonda chirped. "This is pretty exciting."

Somehow Ralph didn't get the kick out of being right that he usually did. The VCR would have to wait. He jumped to his feet, and grabbed the bag off his desk. "You guys, I'll be right back." He started for the door, adding over his shoulder, "Keep it down, all right? I'll be _right back_." Clutching the brown bag, he sped out of the room and down the corridor. Behind him he could hear the rising sounds as the kids took full advantage of his absence. Books closed, conversations and basketball games began.

Hurrying down the hallway, Ralph remembered what he had told himself not an hour before. Nothing involving Bill was ever easy. And the agent had just proven it once again.

Ralph skidded to a halt in front of the men's room and hooked his arm on the frame on his way in. Thankfully he had the place to himself, so no time would be wasted on explanations. Stepping to the row of sinks against one wall, he tugged at the collar of his oxford shirt with one hand, while trying to open the bag with the other.

"Twice in one day…" he gritted through clenched teeth. The adrenalin hadn't started to flow yet; instead the butterflies reigned in his stomach. "I don't believe it. I've never seen _anyone _get into this much trouble." Because Bill _had_ to be in the middle of it. There was no doubt in Ralph's mind that Bill Maxwell was dead center of this whole thing, probably pulling the swaggering Dirty Harry bit that had almost gotten him killed countless times before. He unbuttoned his shirt quickly and reached into the bag, expecting to pull out the red suit.

He pulled his hand out fast when something cold and decidedly un-suitlike covered it. His fingers were sticky with melted ice cream. He tasted one of them… pistachio ice cream. But where…

"Oh no." Ralph groaned what had become his catch phrase for the day once again as he dug deeper into the bag. Birthday candles. "Oh, Bill." Ralph recalled what had happened in the back seat of the car that morning. "I think you're on your own this time."

_Pam _had the suit. And Pam was running all over town doing errands. She probably thought she'd had to run right home to get the ice cream into the freezer. And had probably been equally surprised to find she had the wrong bag in her possession. _Hope you at least looked inside the bag before you put it in the freezer, honey_. If the situation hadn't been resolved by three, Ralph knew he'd have to go home and collect the suit. It would be a lot more comfortable to put on if it hadn't been wrapped around TV dinners all afternoon.

Until then Bill would have to fly solo, as he was perfectly capable of doing. Didn't he say so constantly? Hadn't he worked alone for years before the green guys brought the suit into their lives? Bill Maxwell was not exactly a meter maid, after all.

And this particular scenario was all his, at least until school let out at three. Ralph washed his hands, and rinsed the package of candles which he tucked into his pocket… no sense wasting them, but the ice cream was a goner. He left the men's room and headed back to his classroom. A stab of guilt poked at him, which he tried unsuccessfully to turn aside. You just didn't leave a friend in trouble.

**00o00**

Three o'clock came and went, and Ralph pulled into his driveway at half past. The front door was locked; he took his key out to open it. "Pam!" he called the moment he was inside. Silence. He realized that all the curtains were drawn and flicked on the lights.

Streamers and balloons festooned the living room; a banner reading "Happy Birthday Ralph!" draped across the archway leading into the kitchen. Ralph couldn't contain a grin; so this was what she'd been so secretive about all week. "Pam?" he called again. "Honey?" She must have heard the car come up the driveway; she had to be hiding around a corner, ready to jump out at him.

Ralph entered the living room cautiously, determined to find her before she popped out wearing a funny hat and tossing a handful of confetti at him. "Okay, honey, this is real nice. Really. I wish I could appreciate it more, but…"

He clicked on the TV set after checking behind it for his wife. She wasn't there, either. "You're never going to believe what happened. Some terrorists took over the FBI office. I know Bill's got to be smack in the middle of it. I need the suit. I'll just go break things up and be right back. I promise. Where did you put the bag from the market this morning?"

Still no answer. Ralph crept stealthily through the living room, peering behind the sofa and all the chairs. "Honey? Pam, don't jump out at me, okay? This is serious."

Kimberly Welch had done her profession proud since last she'd appeared on the screen. She was inside the building with her film crew, again reading earnestly from her notebook. "… pending the release of several political prisoners now in custody," she intoned. "KCNH News has learned that…"

Ralph found his attention drawn to the set. "Pam, stop kidding around." He was beginning to get impatient.

On the screen the camera panned the room to show the group of hostages behind Rahim. Ralph froze. _Pam_. That was _Pam _standing there in the semicircle of people, nervously regarding the men with guns who surrounded her. "Oh my god…" escaped Ralph. "Pam!"

The camera moved awkwardly back to Rahim when he began to speak; obviously the camera crew was just the slightest bit nervous. "Our actions are in the name of the United Liberation Front," he announced. "We are holding these people pending the release of our own captured warriors. If they are not freed by eight o'clock tonight, we will make this building and everyone in it a sacrifice to the cause of the unjustly accused."

Ralph looked again at the banner across the kitchen archway. Happy Birthday. Sure. Happy Birthday, Ralph.

More bad news. The suit wasn't in the freezer. He grabbed for his car keys and raced out the front door.

He'd been hanging around Bill too long, he realized, when he jammed the station wagon into gear and peeled out of the driveway as if the flag had just gone down at Indianapolis. He skidded a little in the street, but that was okay under the circumstances. He righted the car without too much trouble and without nailing the row of trash cans that Bill had plowed through on a few occasions, and then careened down the quiet residential street in the direction of downtown.


	3. Chapter 3

There was a perimeter of police barriers set up outside the building; no one was allowed any closer than the opposite side of the street. Police and SWAT teams were everywhere, but they seemed to be very busy doing nothing. Of course, there wasn't a whole lot they could do at the moment. They'd sent in the press as ordered, complete with an undercover cop disguised as a cameraman. As Ralph arrived on the scene, the police were sitting back and waiting for matters to unfold.

Ralph struggled through the crowd of onlookers toward a city cop who stood by the barrier making sure nobody unauthorized got through… and in his case, unauthorized meant just about everyone.

"Officer," Ralph called.

He got a response. "Stand back, please."

"My wife is in there. Can you tell me what's going on?" He had come too close to the perimeter and the cop waved him back. "Look, you don't understand. My wife…"

"There's a _lot _of people in there, pal."

He moved on before Ralph could argue any further. If he hadn't been so worried, he would have been furious. "I thought you were supposed to protect and serve," he called after the cop. "Usually I don't mind doing it myself, but…" His mind raced, trying to come up with something else he could do. _Anything_. Nothing came. Ralph looked around helplessly. "The bag was in the car…"

Suddenly there it was. His 'anything else'. "Bill's _car._" Ralph pounded his right fist into his left palm while turning to fight his way back out of the milling crowd. With any luck, the suit would be right where he'd left it.

After a few desperate minutes of searching, Ralph found the Dodge Diplomat parked on a side street. He shielded his eyes from the glare and peered into the back seat. No bag. "I knew it sounded too easy," he sighed.

He circled the car, carefully examining the windows. They were all rolled up all the way, of course. Bill was paranoid. Ralph knew the man would be unlikely to leave his keys in the ignition, even when only planning to be gone for a few minutes, and Ralph figured that was as long as he'd planned on being gone. Just check in at the office before taking Pam home. _Why _he couldn't have worked in the opposite order was… well, it was something Ralph forced out of his mind. There was no point wishing for what might have been.

Ralph got down on his hands and knees and checked under the bumpers for an extra key. Desperation made him temporarily insane. "Look at me," he berated himself. "I've got to be out of my mind."

He got to his feet, brushed himself off, and in anger and frustration yanked hard on the handle of the driver's side door. He almost knocked himself flat when the door flew open. Unlocked!

"I don't believe it." Ralph dove into the back seat, hoping against hope that the bag would be there. He pulled out from under the seat a misfolded map. "Great." A menu from a Chinese take-out restaurant in Woodland Hills. "Typical." An extra pair of socks. "Come _on_."

He spotted the communicator peeking out from underneath the floor mat, and snapped it up eagerly. Crouched low on the floor of the sedan, Ralph switched it on and called into it. "Bill! Bill, come in!"

**00o00**

Conditions in the FBI office hadn't improved… or, if they had, they had improved in Rahim's favor. At the moment Bill was having handcuffs snapped onto his wrists and, to add insult to injury, they were his own. His suit jacket had been draped over the back of his chair and he and Pam stood side by side nearby. Since the discovery of the suit, Bill had become noticeably more subdued. Pam found herself wondering if this meant he would play by the rules since help wasn't just a holler away this time. She found herself distracted from this train of thought when she realized that, except for a pregnant typist, she was the only woman in the room, a fact which Rahim seemed to have also noticed.

Pam glanced away when she realized the terrorist leader was trying to catch her gaze. "He's giving me the creeps," she murmured to Bill, folding her arms across her chest.

"That ain't all he's givin' _me_," Bill replied as he watched Aram methodically yank phone cords out of the walls, leaving only one phone in service, the one Rahim had used earlier. Bill pulled sharply on the cuffs, succeeding only in discovering that they were secure.

Rahim stopped trying to get Pam's attention when Aram motioned to him from across the room. The two men then went into the latest of a series of huddles that the rest of their party weren't privy to. Pam watched, but couldn't hear a word they said. "We're really in it this time," she sighed.

"Uh huh."

"You don't sound too worried about it."

"Worryin' about it won't get us out of here." There it was again, that incisive Maxwell logic. He was right, but somehow still managed to sound wrong.

"It's not quite so much fun when we're on our own, is it?" Pam asked with a touch of sarcasm.

"Just stay frosty," Bill told her. "I'm working on it."

That was just too much. "Bill, what can you possibly be planning to do about all this?"

A few feet away, emanating from Bill's coat pocket, the answer came to both of them. "Bill! Bill, come in!" the muffled, staticky voice requested.

Pam reacted a little too quickly; moving toward the chair which held Bill's jacket. Aram caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye and raised his gun threateningly. Bill stepped toward Pam, hoping to prevent what he was afraid was about to happen, but Aram didn't fire and Pam stopped on a dime when she realized her danger. She lowered herself slowly into Bill's chair.

"Do you mind?" she asked Aram. "I just… wanted to sit down."

He allowed her to stay there. As soon as he was occupied with Rahim once more, Pam slipped the communicator from Bill's coat pocket and passed it to him. Bill then stepped away, out of earshot of the rest of the group. Once he felt as alone as he was going to get, he raised the communicator and spoke into it. "Ralph!"

Ralph had never been so happy to hear a voice before in his life. "Bill! What's going on in there?"

"What's going on?" Bill glanced around. "We're up to our eyebrows in heavy artillery, that's what's going on."

Same old Bill. "I'm in the back seat of your car. Where's the suit?"

Bill looked remorsefully in the direction of his desk. "Well… it's up here."

"Oh, terrific." Ralph shook his head in frustration. "That's a big help."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"Is Pam all right?"

"She's fine," Bill affirmed. "We're just sitting around up here playin' a coupla hands." He yanked again on the cuffs. "I got a pair of fives, nothing up my sleeve. Outta aces."

"I don't know what to do."

"There's not much you _can _do, kid; not with the jammies here. I guess maybe we gotta let the local blue suits handle this one. What are they doing out there anyway?"

"Not much of anything, if you ask me," Ralph replied. "Setting up a lot of Do Not Cross signs. You guys gonna be all right up there?"

"I guess we'll have to be, Ralph. I can't…" Bill broke off when he spotted Rahim approaching, gun drawn. Time to sign off. He palmed the communicator so it couldn't be seen. _Thank God for microchips._

Rahim spoke very pleasantly, not a good sign at all as far as Bill could tell. "Please," he said, indicating the rest of the captives. "Shortly we will make our selection."

Bill had neglected to press the off switch, which meant he was broadcasting everything he and Rahim said to the worried man hunched in the back seat of the sedan several blocks away. "What are you yammerin' about now?"

Rahim continued in the same slow, careful voice… a voice one might use to persuade an animal into a trap. "If we do not receive positive news within the next half hour, we will execute a hostage. We will continue to do so every fifteen minutes until our demands have been met."

"Or you run outta hostages," Bill couldn't resist.

Rahim motioned again for him to rejoin the others, and this time Bill obeyed.

Ralph started to say something into the communicator, then realized that it would further endanger Bill. He kept silent, but he could almost hear his own palms start to sweat. Half an hour.

Bill was led back to stand by Carlisle and pushed down into a chair. Carlisle waited until Rahim walked away, then leaned over to Bill. "What was that about?"

"About fifteen minutes…" Bill replied absently, his mind fixed on deciding what his next move would be. He hadn't come across one he liked yet.

As usual he was making very little sense to Carlisle. "What?"

Bill just shook his head. No sense going into that now. It wasn't good news and there was nothing he could do about it anyway. Carlisle, however, had ideas of his own.

"The passage of time wears down any adversary," he whispered. "Then options develop."

That sounded vaguely familiar to Bill; like maybe it was from the late show last Monday night. "Huh?"

"Haven't you read the manual?" his superior demanded.

"Sir, in this case, the passage of time'll just wear down the _hostages_. They're talking about picking one off for every fifteen minutes their Christmas wish list don't get filled." Bill motioned to Rahim and Aram standing nearby with looks of mutual distrust on their faces. "Those goons are starting to grate on each other," he observed. "If we get real lucky, maybe they'll kill each other and forget about us." The handcuffs were starting to cut into his wrists. Bill realized he'd been pulling on them without even thinking about it. "If I could only get outta these charm bracelets."

**00o00**

Any port in a storm, and any plan was better than no plan. Ralph marched up to the officious city cop he'd been perturbing before and pulled out his press ID card. "Sir, excuse me. I'm with the press."

The cop was less than impressed. "So?"

Ralph flashed the ID. He hoped it was good enough to pass. The cop inspected it, then looked at Ralph as if he'd lost his mind. "The Whitney Weekly Write-Off?"

Smiling weakly, Ralph thought fast. "An… uh… up-and-coming local…"

The officer handed him back the piece of oaktag with his signature and photo on it. Giving the card a quick glance as he tucked it back into his wallet, Ralph thought he'd done a pretty good job of it. He had a stack of them sitting in his desk drawer at school, waiting to be distributed to his students. Of course, he realized, none of them were likely to try and fool a policeman with the cards. Liquor store clerks, yeah, but not the police.

"You've got to be kidding," said the cop. "We got no press in there now."

"Well, then perhaps you wouldn't mind if I got some comments from you." Ralph hadn't been watching Kimberly Welch all morning without having learned a thing or two.

"Get lost, okay?"

He started to walk away. Ralph, with nothing to lose, followed him. "Sir?"

"Look, I got a job to do," complained the cop.

Ralph started to feel desperation setting in. He began to talk in a flood of words. "Unless, well, you probably don't have all that much to do with the real action, the really important stuff. Busy with crowd control and whatnot. I'm afraid that won't make for very interesting copy, even for high school kids. Could you possibly direct me to someone who can tell me what's happening?"

The most sensitive and vulnerable part of any human being: the ego, and Ralph had scored a bulls-eye with his comment. "What do _I _look like to you?" asked the cop indignantly. "I know what's going on!"

"Of course you do," Ralph nodded, fishing in his pockets for a notebook, a pencil, anything that would serve as a prop to keep his act rolling. "I'm really sorry. I'm a little new at this. Would you mind terribly if I…" Abruptly, Ralph broke off, pointing away from the building into the crowd. "Mr. Mayor! Could I have a word with you, sir?"

The cop craned his neck to catch sight of the mayor exactly as Ralph wanted him to. In that moment Ralph ducked under the barrier and ran like blazes for some cover nearer to the building.

It took the officer a moment to realize he'd been had, and by that time Ralph was nowhere in sight. "Hey!" he called in no particular direction. "Hey, wait a minute!"


	4. Chapter 4

Ralph broke a ground-floor window to gain access to the building, hoping he wouldn't set off countless alarms in the process. When nothing happened, and he managed to get out of the office he'd found himself in without anyone seeing him, he began to gain a certain degree of confidence. He kept very close to the wall, searching through the unfamiliar corridors for the stairs. Never had he wished so fervently for his power of invisibility. But the suit was upstairs with Bill and Pam, and it wasn't doing anyone any good balled up in a grocery bag. He knew he had to get his hands on it damn quick, before someone got hurt. Exactly _how _he would accomplish that was a problem he would deal with when he got upstairs. How to get upstairs was the problem immediately at hand.

The corridor ended in a "T" shape just ahead and Ralph padded silently to the corner and peered around. There were stairs, all right. And standing in front of them was a man in a guard's uniform, but Ralph wasn't about to bet the farm whose side he was on. Ralph pulled back quickly before he could be spotted.

The stairs were out, then, and the only other way up was the elevator, which was a few yards behind him down the hall. The elevator was out of the guard's line of sight, but… take the elevator upstairs? Ralph didn't think it was the best idea in the world, but it was the only idea he had to work with at the moment. He moved back and pressed the "up" button and the lights above the sliding door began to descend. Five, four, three…

Ralph fidgeted, looking about worriedly. The guard was just around the corner, after all, and he had no suit between him and the bullets that were likely to come from the guard's gun if he discovered Ralph. The numbers moved altogether too slowly.

Finally the doors began to open, and as they did, the characteristic _'ding' _of the arrival bell reverberated down the previously silent corridor just as Ralph had begun to feel a bit cocky. He pulled on the doors to get them to open more quickly He could hear the thud of the guard's boots as the man began to run down the corridor. Of course he hadn't missed the sound; it echoed down the corridor like a gunshot in the Grand Canyon.

The doors slid closed just as the guard reached the elevator bank, and the lighted numbers above the doors began to climb again. The guard opened the master panel beside the elevator and used a key from his ring to trigger the manual switch. In a moment the numbers slowed, stopped… then crept downward again. Keeping the key in the lock with one hand, the guard readied his revolver with the other.

The numbers reached "1" again and the doors opened. But the car was empty. He stuck his head inside to check things out; still nothing. He put his gun into his side holster, removed the key and allowed the doors to reclose. Short circuit… anything could happen with the cheap wiring they had in these newer buildings. Satisfied that nobody was trying anything funny, the guard returned to his post.

Shortly after he moved away, the numbers above the door climbed upward again. Inside the elevator car, Ralph had dropped down from the emergency panel in the ceiling, his clothing disheveled and stained with smudges of machine oil that Pam would have a fit over when she saw them. They wouldn't come out of cotton, she'd tell him… if he could get her out of this mess before something happened to her. Ralph straightened his jacket and allowed himself the luxury of a deep breath to steady his nerves. He'd come too far to back out now.

Some minutes later Ralph was pulling himself forward on his elbows through a ventilation duct. His back brushed the top of the duct with every forward motion; it was dark and tight and beginning to look like not a very good idea at all. But Ralph was fairly certain he would come out in the office area. He could hear voices, and there was a light up ahead. Slowly, silently, he made his way forward.

Finally something had come out the way he'd planned. Through the grid in the wall he could see some of the hostages and some of the terrorists. And one of those hostages was Pam. Ralph felt a wave of relief mixed with fear wash through him. Seeing her was the easy part. Getting her out of there would be the difficult maneuver. He was prone, flat on his stomach to avoid being seen, and for a moment he considered trying to attract her attention. Instead, he removed the communicator from his pocket and spoke into it very softly. "Bill?"

The voice was no more than a whisper, but Bill could make out the sound of his name. Discreetly he removed his own device from his pocket and turned toward the wall to conceal his conversation. "_Now _what is it?"

Ralph frowned. This was not the reply he'd expected. "Where are you?" he asked.

Bill's shoulders dropped. He was getting more than a little tired of stupid questions. "I'm in a cocktail lounge in Miami Beach; where do you think?"

"I mean where _exactly_," Ralph shot back. "I can't see you."

Bill was about to fire back another snide remark when the meaning of what Ralph had just said got through to him. "Where are _you_?"

"I'm in the air shaft," Ralph whispered. "I can see Pam through the grill."

"Ralph, what are you _doing_?" Bill demanded. "You're not bulletproof now, you know!"

"No kidding. Listen, Bill. You've got to find a way to get me the suit. Where is it?"

"It's… in the bag on my desk. Ralph, this is nuts. It's impossible."

Ralph squinted out the narrow view afforded him and spotted the brown paper bag sitting on his friend's desk. "I know," he replied. "So, how are we gonna do it?"

That was it, then, Bill thought to himself. The kid had gone over. He was a real, card-carrying nutburger if he thought he could pull off this Superman stuff without the jammies. "I don't think you understand, kid." Bill spoke slowly and simply, as if to a small child. "We got no cavalry on this one. You gotta get outta there before they spot you."

"In less than half an hour they're gonna start killing hostages," Ralph reminded the agent. "You know that means you and Pam, don't you?"

"It's gonna mean you too if they find you in that shaft," Bill's authoritative voice crackled through the receiver. "Willya get outta there before someone gets hurt?"

Ralph's brain was in overdrive seeking a plan. "Wait a minute! I think I've got it!"

"Got what?"

Another thing Ralph had from his hiding place was a clandestine birds-eye view of the narrow mail chute behind the row of desks on the far wall of the room. "Where does the mail slot go?"

"The basement, I guess. What do you…"

"That's it." Having a great idea felt almost as good as interrupting Bill. "Put the suit in the mail slot. I can pick it up in the basement."

"But…"

"Just _do _it, Bill!"

"Ralph…"

"See you." Ralph repocketed the communicator and moved away from the grill, beginning to back out of the air shaft. The first thing that happened was that his suit coat began to creep up backwards over his head, and before he'd gone two feet he was in danger of backing right out of the jacket. He didn't mind that so much; he just hoped he wouldn't get stuck like the Grinch in the chimney in that Dr. Suess cartoon. Slowly, carefully, he began his exit.

Bill was still trying to get him back on the communicator. "Ralph," he whispered harshly. "Ralph, you…"

Pam, attracted by Bill's hissing, joined him in the corner. Before she could ask, he summed up the problem for her. "Well, it's official; he's gone nuts."

"What?" Pam felt she needed a little elaboration on that one.

"Never mind," Bill shook his head. "Can you give me a good diversion while I try and get at the suit?"

"What about the suit?"

Bill sighed; quick instant replay was in order, if they could afford the time-out. "Ralph's in the building. We gotta get him the suit."

Pam looked around. "Where?"

"He's in the air shaft," Bill explained with all the patience he could muster. "And he's got a really good chance of getting himself killed if they catch him."

"Oh, no…"

"Yeah, well, here we go again. Can you get the goon to glue his eyes on you for a coupla seconds?"

"And how would you suggest I do that?"

"Well… I…"

Pamela Hinkley was a very attractive woman. Ralph knew it. Bill knew it, and he wasn't above exploiting any and all resources at their disposal to try and save their lives. Pam, on the other hand, was in control of that particular resource, and she was a firm believer in conservation. "Oh, no, Bill," she breathed, turning on him. "No. No way."

"Come on, it's for a…"

"_No_!"

Bill motioned for her to keep her voice down. "That slob's been givin' you the eye for…"

Pam shook her head vehemently, refusing even to discuss it.

"Oh, for cryin' out loud. All right, you don't wanta play in the major leagues, you take a dive or something, just get their eyes on you for a few seconds."

Pam stared at his incredulously. She'd expected something much more original. "A dive?" she echoed.

"Just go horizontal on 'em all of a sudden. Make like a…"

"Bill, that is so _dated_. Nobody falls for that one anymore. When was the last time you planned a diversion?"

This couldn't be happening, Bill insisted to himself. In fifteen minutes those guys were going to start punching holes in peoples' vital organs and he couldn't even map out a decent scenario without Pam going all Women's Lib on him and deep-sixing a perfectly good plan. "Do we have _time _for this? Willya just play the…"

Bill was cut off when Rahim approached them and spoke to Pam. "Come here." It was the same voice Bill hadn't liked earlier, the one that had said there wasn't anything to worry about. When a guy holding a live grenade said that, it was a good time to question his veracity.

Pam played it dumb. "Me?"

"Come here," Rahim repeated evenly.

"I like it here, thank you."

Before she could think of anything to add, Pam heard the loud click of the hammer on a handgun being pulled back from behind her. She took a deep breath before turning to see what was happening back there, although she had a pretty good idea.

But she was wrong. She'd expected to find the gun at her back, and was not in the least bit relieved to find it pointed at Bill instead. Aram stood at point-blank range with his gun leveled at Bill's head. Bill was trying to act nonchalant, but he wasn't stupid. Six inches plus a .38 slug… well, he didn't like those odds much at all. He raised an eyebrow to Pam to suggest she do as she had been told.

"All right," Pam nodded, her mouth dry. "If you feel that strongly about it…"

She approached Rahim and he grabbed her arm to yank her roughly to him. Pam went limp as overcooked asparagus and Rahim had to keep her from falling to the floor. Aram lowered his gun and turned to Pam as well, and Bill dropped back, realizing that he had his diversion. For the first time since the takeover had occurred, the ball was in his court.

He didn't stop to notice if anyone was watching as he retreated to his desk. If anyone was, and they said anything, he was dead and he might as well step in front of that .38 voluntarily. But he had no time to worry about it. Either he moved now or they moved them all out later in those bags with the six-foot zippers. With difficulty because of the handcuffs, he managed to pull the suit from the bag and slip it piece by piece into the mail slot. When he had finished, he turned around to catch the end of Pam's act. Luck was with them, and about time too… everyone in the immediate area had their eyes on her, and Rahim was still holding her up.

"Stand up," he ordered roughly.

Pam, still laying it on thick, struggled to her feet. "I'm sorry…" she said, feigning dizziness. "I have this pathological fear of guns… I can't even watch _Bonanza_…"

Rahim pointed to the clock on the wall. "You see there?" He took her chin in his hand and pulled her to face the clock. "You have exactly fifteen minutes to live."

Pam had been trying to stay calm, but it was fast going out the window. The red second hand on the clock seemed to be going faster than she'd ever seen one go before. She cast worried eyes at Bill. His eyes went to the mail slot and then back to meet her own. She understood; the plan had been implemented. It would be fifteen minutes before they knew if it worked or not.

**00o00**

To Ralph it seemed like the ventilation shaft had been longer coming out than going in. It had been a day of distorted perspectives. But he'd finally made his way back to the broken grating where he'd let himself into the air system and was currently trying to make his way to the basement. All of the exits were clearly marked, and finding the stairs hadn't posed much of a problem. He entered the stairwell and let the pneumatic door swing shut behind him.

Aram, patrolling the corridor, saw it settle shut. He drew his weapon and stealthily worked his way to the stairs. He flung the door open and looked inside. The stairwell was empty, but he could hear descending footsteps. It wasn't any of the men from their group; it could only be an unauthorized intruder. Aram holstered his gun and hurried back to report to Rahim.

Rahim had adopted Carlisle's office as a combination command center and commando rec room; that was where he currently held Pam and Bill. Bill surmised that this meant he was second on the execution schedule, and the idea of dying in Carlisle's office held no appeal for him at all. Aram knocked once and entered, delivering his message in a way that should have made Rahim proud. "An intruder."

Rahim's face darkened. "Where?"

"The rear stairs."

"Find him," Rahim instructed. "Silence him."

Aram nodded and ran toward the door. There was another of their men just outside, and Aram gestured for him to follow. Together they headed back to the stairwell.

The sound of the door at the bottom falling shut reached their ears as soon as they started down. The two men quickened their pace.


	5. Chapter 5

Ralph heard the door shut behind him, but he paid it no mind. His only concern for the moment was finding the mail room, and the door was conveniently marked. He let himself in. The large, darkened mail room consisted of rows and rows of steel shelving six or seven feet high. Obviously it doubled as a supply area. Cartons of stationery and envelopes lined the shelves. It was impossible to see beyond the ends of the rows, and Ralph wandered up and down the maze-like arrangement looking for the mail chute, feeling very much like a large rat in a psychology experiment.

There it was. Ralph felt his heart skip a beat; there was the chute, and the arm of the red suit extending from the bottom of it. He grabbed the sleeve and pulled first the top, then the pants out. He began to unbutton his oxford shirt.

All of a sudden he heard one thing he didn't want to hear: a voice. "We start down here and work up." A man's voice, and it sounded like they were in the same room. "Someone is here."

Ralph yanked the cape out of the chute and ducked low. He glanced around furtively for a place to hide. Unless he was a manila envelope he was out of luck. To add to the confusion, his communicator beeped to life. "Ralph," Bill's voice called. "Where are ya?"

Ralph groaned. "Not now."

"Get a move on, kid," Bill continued. "They picked the Counselor. She's first in line. She's got fifteen minutes tops."

**00o00**

Pam, listening at the door for Rahim's return, looked toward Bill. "What does he say?"

Shaking his head, Bill replied, "He's not sayin' anything… I dunno if he can hear me."

**00o00**

Ralph saw motion at the end of the aisle and flattened himself against the wall out of sight. It was Aram… one man, so where was the other one? Ralph was willing to bet that with luck the other was guarding the door. He wondered briefly if he had time to get the suit on. Probably not. Fifteen minutes to get to Pam.

Again, any plan was better than no plan. Ralph took a small parcel out of the bin beneath the chute and tossed it as far as he could to the opposite side of the room, away from the entrance to the room. He heard shouts and the scurrying of both men toward the source of the sound. While their backs were turned and their attention elsewhere, Ralph made a run for the doorway and the corridor beyond. His luck failed at that point and he was spotted. Both terrorists gave chase.

Ralph yanked open the door to the stairwell and bounded up the first flight, the suit tight in his hands. Just a few minutes, that was all he needed; just enough time to get the suit on and he could take both of those guys out and still pull Pam and Bill out of the fire. From behind he could hear the two men, no longer bothering to keep silent, pounding up the stairs after him. They sounded close.

He had reached the fourth floor landing when from above he heard another man start down. There was nowhere for him to go but the fourth floor itself. He pulled the fire door open and ran through, pausing long enough to pull it closed behind him this time.

The floor was deserted, having been evacuated by the police earlier in the day. Just a lot of desks and cubicles and glowing green computer screens. Looked to be the secretarial pool. He ducked around the corner of one of the work stations and started again to remove his shirt. From out on the landing he could hear voices.

"He can't be far."

A new voice, probably the guy who'd been coming down from the fifth floor.

When he heard the door open, Ralph scooped up the suit and started to run again. He hadn't so much as gotten the cape on yet. "_Damn_…" Footsteps were soon closing in on him, even though he couldn't see his pursuer because the Port-A-Walls formed yet another rat's maze of dead ends and cul-de-sacs. He wanted to get back to the stairwell, but…

Ralph peered around the corner to see Aaronson still standing by the door. Trying the play that had worked so well downstairs occurred to him. _Back by special request, Ralph Hinkley will now attempt to distract three armed men by throwing a high-heeled shoe for distance_, but he threw the idea away instead. There was no way they would fall for that old trick twice, and even if two of them did, that still left _this _barn door standing in front of the only exit. He couldn't get out that way.

A bullet pierced the fabric of the wall just in front of him and Ralph ran in another direction. He was running out of directions with not the slightest idea where he was going.

He found out shortly – he was going to be trapped. He found himself at the end of the line with windows on one side, walls on two sides, and pursuers close behind to the rear. That was it, then.

Surrendering occurred to him in the next moment. It would be very easy to stand there with his hands in the air and wait for them to catch up to him. They would bring him downstairs, maybe, if they didn't shoot him on the spot. Maybe there would be time to get into the suit. Maybe together he and Bill could…

Ralph put those thoughts out of his head. Something inside told him he'd be shot on sight, and even if he was wrong about that, he was positive they would not allow him the chance to get into the suit. He had one more option besides waving the white flag. Ralph raised the window and leaned out. Why did four floors look like forty when he tried to picture himself standing on that narrow ledge? To avoid any arguments with himself, Ralph put a leg over the ledge and climbed out onto the ten-inch-wide shelf that surrounded the building below the fourth floor. _Want to be a hero_? he asked himself. _Well, go for it._

The three men chasing Ralph came up on the office Ralph had just vacated like gangbusters, guns ready to fire. "Where is he?" demanded Aram of thin air. "Where did he go?"

"He could not possibly have gotten past us," Aaronson said.

"Do you see an intruder here? _Do _you?" he screamed.

The two men looked at each other silently. Their leader was flipping out, and it was probably best for them if they said nothing. They studied their shoes, the view, anything, as Aram continued his tirade.

Ralph could hear them from outside. Ralph could hear a lot of things. His hearing had become more acute since he'd closed his eyes, and they'd been closed since he'd pulled the window shut behind him. He tried telling himself that he was only three inches above the ground, walking on the curb and pretending it was a high-wire like he'd done when he was a little boy. The problem with that was that when he'd been small there had never been those traffic noises wafting up on the breeze from Wilshire Boulevard, and he didn't recall the wind ever being this stiff. He still clutched the suit, in the wild hope that it might offer him some protection even clenched in his fist… perhaps allow him to stick to the building. If sweat were glue, he would have no trouble at all. He stood absolutely still, eyes shut tight, plastered against the wall. Maybe surrendering wouldn't have been so bad. Maybe even getting shot wouldn't have been so bad.

"I hate this…" Ralph muttered, forcing his dry mouth to form words. "I _hate _this."

Above the whistle of the wind, his communicator clicked on and Bill's voice reached his ears. "Ralph, where are you? Come on, kid, we can't keep this up forever. They're gonna…"

Anger gave Ralph the strength to rebut. "Will you shut _up_?" he demanded. "Don't look down," he reminded himself. "That's it. That's all you have to remember. Don't look down."

The communicator droned on. "… any minute now, you know; we're not playin' penny ante up here…"

Ralph grabbed at the communicator and nearly lost his balance. His knees locked and for a moment he even stopped breathing. He remained motionless, sure that at any moment the vibration from his pounding heart would push him right off the ledge. He broke his own first commandment and opened his eyes. Reflexively, the first direction they turned was down. Those cars looked _so _small…

"I can't…" Ralph forced through clenched teeth. "I can't… that's it. Okay, come get me. Come get me. I give up…"

**00o00**

Bill listened for a reply. He'd heard the 'shut up' part, and planned to deal with that later, but nothing else. Ralph's soliloquy hadn't been loud enough to carry through the transmitter. "Uh, Ralph," Bill continued, "I don't know what you're doin', but you think maybe you could tear yourself away long enough to get us outta here? Can you hear me, kid?"

Pam moved over to join him and looked over his shoulder for a moment before he realized she was there. "Why doesn't he answer?"

"If he's trying to keep us on edge, he's doing a real good job of it," Bill replied curtly.

"Maybe he's in trouble."

"_He's_ got the _suit_. _We're _in trouble." The Maxwell logic once again. Pam grabbed the communicator out of his hand.

"Give me that thing," she snapped. Holding it to her lips, she asked, "How does this work?" Then she found the switch. "Never mind. Ralph, honey, where are you? Are you all right? Ralph, answer me."

Ralph could hear her, but he couldn't answer. He was still stuck, unable to go ahead or move back, afraid to move even enough to get his hand on the communicator and answer. "Ralph?" Pam's voice called again. For the first time in his life Ralph found that he understood the old adage, 'So near and yet so far.'

**00o00**

Bill motioned for Pam to keep trying. "See if you can get anything out of him. I've been dialing 911 on that thing for as long as I can…"

A round of gunfire cut him off in mid-complaint. Pam dropped the communicator when Bill grabbed her and pulled her to the floor behind Carlisle's desk. The sharp hot flash of pain that surged through his shoulder told him that Rahim had been faster. The terrorist leader stood in the doorway, pistol pointed at the spot where the two of them had been standing a moment before.

**00o00**

Ralph was also startled by the sound, which he could hear both inside the building and via the communicator. Motivated at last, he forgot his own predicament and grabbed for the transmitter. "Pam!" he called into it desperately. "_Pam_!"

Silence.

**00o00**

"Up," ordered Rahim coldly. "Both of you. Get up."

Pam started to do so, edging slowly to her feet with a wary eye on Rahim, then realized that Bill was doing a very awkward job of it. The sleeve of his white shirt showed a small tear, and a dark bloodstain where the slug had gone in. That, added to the fact that he was still handcuffed, made movement very difficult. Bill wasn't going anywhere in a hurry.

"Oh, my God…" escaped her. "Bill…"

Bill resisted her attempt to keep him from standing. He knew he was in for a lot of pain later, but for now the adrenalin was flowing, helping him focus on a fantasy of Rahim tied between two Mack trucks going in opposite directions. "Okay," he said at last, "you've got our attention. Now what do you want?"

Rahim gestured to the communicator on the floor. "What is that?" When neither of them answered, Rahim posed the next question to Bill. "Do you wish to be the first to die?"

"Well, it would kinda ruin my weekend, to tell you the truth." _Steady, Maxwell_, he warned himself. It would be altogether too easy to lose what control he had left. He _had _to stay on his feet. This wasn't the worst one he had ever taken. When Pam took his arm, Bill tried to pull away but she clung even tighter. "It's nothing," he told her in an aside. "Just a scratch."

_Some scratch. _Pam didn't buy that for a minute, not the way he was bleeding. She wracked her brain for some way to help, almost missing Rahim's next words.

"Over there." She looked up to see him pointing at her. "Move."

"But…"

Pam's protest died unspoken when Rahim raised his pistol and trained the sight on her. She moved, very slowly and cautiously, away from Bill.

Fuming helplessly, Bill watched Pam, knowing what was coming next. And Pam's shoulder would not be the target of Rahim's next shot. For the first time in his memory, his mind was a blank, not a single scenario to be found.


	6. Chapter 6

The fourth floor was silent. Aaronson, alone, had been left there by Aram with orders to locate the intruder. So far he had come up empty, and had formed the opinion that his quarry was long gone. How, he had no idea, but somehow the man had managed to get out of the building without being seen. Undoubtedly another reporter, a man with nothing better to do than stand around watching buildings burn and people die.

Aaronson pushed open the door to the ladies room and looked inside. A flash of red sleeve was the first and last thing he saw in there. Ralph took him out in record time. Suited at last, Ralph stepped over the unconscious body of the guard and ran to the still-open window he'd come back in through. Three steps and a leap and he was gone, and so was most of the window. Oh well, another one for the expense account. Ralph copped a mid-air U-turn and came back in toward the second floor windows, at almost twice his normal cruising speed.

**00o00**

Pam stood with her back against the wall. She had a vague memory of seeing this somewhere before, probably in an old Errol Flynn movie. Rahim stood before her with the gun. If she'd been a member of the Foreign Legion he probably would have offered her a cigarette. "Listen," Pam said, her voice remarkably calm under the circumstances, "can't we talk about this?"

"Our demands have not been met," Rahim replied. "There is no more time for talk. The time is for action."

"Look, the line's probably busy, that's all. I bet they're trying to call you right now."

"Be proud. You are dying in the name of all that your capitalist government holds dear."

"I always kind of hoped for old age." _Stall, baby, stall!_

Rahim aimed. Bill, standing nearby with Aram who had followed his leader into the room, could almost hear the wheels turning in her head trying to come up with a plan. One look at his face and Pam knew he couldn't help her. She closed her eyes.

Bill made the only move he could, a last-ditch effort to disarm Aram. The terrorist had little trouble defending himself. As he knocked Bill to the floor, Ralph came crashing through the closed window in a shower of glass and twisted metal tracks.

Ralph landed smack on top of Rahim and wrenched the pistol from his hand, then lifted the man easily to toss him the length of the office. Rahim hit the far wall hard enough to crack the sheetrock, sending the wall clock crashing to the floor. Sliding down to make an untidy heap on the floor, he moved once, then slumped back.

With Aram distracted, Bill had more success with his second try at disarming the man. With only one good arm, he came down hard on Aram's gun hand to make him drop this weapon, then managed a well-placed punch until Ralph could step in and finish the job.

Pam had grabbed Rahim's gun when it came flying from his hand, and she moved quickly to cover the terrorist while Ralph helped Bill with Aram. Once Bill had armed himself with Aram's gun, he moved quickly to relieve Pam of the one she held squarely on Rahim. "Try it, geek!" she yelled.

Bill reached out to relieve her of the gun very gingerly. "Um, Counselor, how about…" He reached out and pointed the gun away from himself before prying it from her hands. "Right, that's better." Rahim opened his eyes and looked up. Bill smiled insincerely, and leveled the gun at him. "Now." Bill sounded almost pleasant. "You were saying?" He ignored his arm which had begun to throb now that the first shock was over. He needed to savor this moment and nothing was going to get in the way.

Ralph and Pam met in an embrace in the middle of the room. "I'm sorry, honey," Ralph murmured, hugging her as tightly as he dared while wearing the suit; he was always afraid he might hurt her accidentally. "I would've been here sooner if I could. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Pam nodded.

"Are you sure?" Ralph pressed. He didn't think her knees were supporting her as much as he was.

"I'm okay, but Bill's hurt."

Ralph glanced over at Bill, who seemed to be managing quite well in spite of his bloody shoulder. The agent grinned. "What are you talkin' about?" he asked. "Never been better. Our boy here is the one who's gonna be hurting."

"You wouldn't believe what I've been through," Ralph told Pam.

"It's what I was trying to tell you before, kid," Bill continued. "I got some notes on the ol' response time for ya."

"I take it back; he sounds just fine," Pam amended her earlier statement.

From down the hall they heard a commotion, reminding them that there were more terrorists to take care of. "All right, ladies and gentlemen, may I direct your attention to matters at hand?" Bill was on a roll.

Ralph pushed Pam behind him and faced the doorway. Bill moved behind the door to get the jump on the intruders, still armed with Rahim's gun. The door opened and two terrorists burst into the room, only to stop and stare at Ralph who stood in the middle of the room in Technicolor. After a moment they took in the sprawled figures of Rahim and Aram, automatically stepping forward to help their associates. Behind them, Bill slammed the door and leveled the gun at them.

"Okay, freeze it right there!"

The men were so stunned by the turn of events that they made no protest when Ralph relieved them of their weapons. "Who are you?" one of them managed to ask.

"A mild-mannered reporter," Ralph replied dryly.

"What's the matter? Dontcha read the comics?" Bill grinned, on top again and loving it. "Seems like it would be about your speed."

The terrorists taken care of, Ralph walked over to Bill and snapped the handcuffs he wore as if they were made of eggshells. "Thanks, kid, gotta admit that was kinda humiliating."

Ralph had gotten a good look at his friend's arm. "I think we'd better get you to a hospital."

"What?" Bill shook his head. "Nah. I been waiting hours for this, Ralph." He flexed his muscles to get the kinks out and nearly dropped the gun when his arm balked at the motion and demanded attention. "Uh, on second thought, maybe you're right."

Unnoticed by the reunited partners, Rahim was slowly withdrawing the grenade he'd carried from his inside pocket. It wasn't until he'd pulled the pin and released the grip handle that Bill spotted what he was up to.

"Ralph, he's got the pin out! Do something!"

When Ralph made a move towards Rahim, the terrorist calmly swallowed the pin. For a moment Ralph felt as though the pin had gone down his own throat. Rahim grinned. "This building and everyone in it will…"

"Oh, put a lid on it," Bill ordered.

"What can I do?" Ralph looked to Bill for a suggestion.

"I say reach down his throat and pull it out!"

"_Bill_!"

"Whatever you're gonna do, kid, do it quick! Another coupla seconds and it's gonna look like a tickertape parade in here."

Sometimes Ralph really wished that Bill didn't have such a firm grasp on the metaphors of the English language. He pried the grenade loose from Rahim's fingers, then ran with it to the window. Problem. What was he supposed to do with the darn thing? He couldn't drop it. There were too many people in the street below. He couldn't throw it either; buildings surrounded this one, all occupied, all too close. And time was running out.

Summoning all the strength he and the suit possessed, Ralph finally tossed it straight up, into the air. It made a whistling noise as it vanished from sight. "Five, four, three, two…"

The grenade exploded harmlessly several hundred feet above the pavement. While Ralph breathed a sigh of relief, Bill let out a slow whistle. "Huh. Betcha pitch one hell of a knuckleball."

Increased noise in the hall had their attention. This time they all recognized Carlisle's voice. Before Bill could tell him to get lost, Ralph did a quick fade-out before the agents entered the office. The terrorists stared, open-mouthed, at the space Ralph had occupied mere seconds earlier.

Carlisle and another agent burst into the room to find that Bill had the jump on all four men. "Maxwell, what in the name of sanity is going on here?" Carlisle managed, after studying the situation.

"Uh…" As usual there was no good way to explain recent events. "Well, about what it looks like, Boss."

"But, how did you… and how could… how did…" Carlisle gestured about the room.

Pam dove in head first in an attempt to salvage Bill's credibility. "I think we should go into that later, sir. Agent Maxwell needs medical attention."

"Where did he go?" asked one of Rahim's men.

"Where did _who _go?" countered Carlisle.

"The other guy. The one in the funny underwear."

Carlisle looked to his best bet for an entertaining explanation. Clutching his injured shoulder, Bill tried again. "Uh, I guess I hit that one too hard. He's seein' things."

That wasn't nearly good enough. Bill could tell by the look the senior agent gave him. "Later, Maxwell," Carlisle promised. "Believe me, we'll talk later."

The agent who had entered the room with Carlisle pried the gun out of Bill's hands and took charge of the prisoners. Then Pam quicly led Bill out the door before Carlisle could think of any more questions. Behind them they could hear the man who had spoken before start up again. "I'm telling you, there was another guy here. He wore a cape, and…"

Carlisle cut him off with a simple wave of his hand. "Not now. I've had a very difficult day."

When the senior agent turned toward the door, it was just settling into place behind Bill and Pam. Then it opened and closed again. But there was nobody there. Carlisle shook his head in a vain effort to clear it. "A _very _difficult day…" he echoed.

**00o00**

The Hinkleys' living room was exactly as Ralph had left it. Streamers still decked the walls and doorways; the banner reading 'Happy Birthday Ralph' was still draped across the archway. The only additions were the vase of fresh flowers on the coffee table and the TV dinner beside it that sported a lighted candle.

Ralph sat on the couch with a bottle of champagne, struggling to open it. One of these days they were going back to screw-on tops, he promised himself. Pam entered the room carrying two glasses, sat down beside him, after placing the glasses next to the foil-wrapped Salisbury steak. "Got it, honey?" she asked.

Ralph nodded. "Yeah, I got it."

He finally managed to remove the cork, the loud pop making them both jump. Pam held out one of the glasses for Ralph to fill.

"I'm sorry the bakery was closed."

"That's all right." He filled one glass and Pam held out the other.

"But that dinner was all I had in the freezer. And I'm sorry we don't have any ice cream."

"Pam, really, it's okay. I don't mind."

"I wanted everything to be perfect tonight."

Ralph filled the second glass and looked, really _looked_, at his wife. He couldn't remember the last time she'd looked quite this beautiful. The candlelight, and the way she had her hair… he moved forward and they met in a kiss. "Everything _is _perfect tonight," he assured her. "You're here, and I'm here, and…" They kissed again. "And Bill's not."

Pam grinned. "What did you do with the communicator?"

He knew he looked like the cat that had eaten the canary, which was driving Pam crazy, but he couldn't help himself.

"Ralph, don't do this to me!"

Laughing, he surrendered. "All right, all right, I put it in the glove compartment of Bill's car."

"Oh, you didn't."

"This superhero is taking the night off."

To confirm his statement, Pam unbuttoned his shirt to check for the familiar red suit. It wasn't there.

"Nope," he told her. "Forget it. The hero is off-duty."

"You're always my hero," Pam assured him.

"Well, I guess I could stay on-call… for you."

"I guess you'd better."

They were well on their way to an amorous encounter when the doorbell interrupted. Pam felt her fingernails dig into the palms of her hands. "I'll kill him."

Ralph shook his head. "He wouldn't. Not tonight."

"Of course he would. You know him as well as I do. Of _course _he would!" Who else but Bill Maxwell went around ringing peoples' doorbells at eleven o'clock at night? Even safely tucked away, as she'd foolishly believed, in the Emergency Room at Valley Hospital, he had somehow managed to talk his way out of the 'overnight for observation', and…

Pam got up from the couch, grabbed her glass of champagne and stalked to the front door. To her surprise, when she flung it open she found Tony, Rhonda, Paco and Cyler. The kids entered and made themselves at hom. Pam stayed by the open door, wondering why this was happening to her.

Tony dug into the cheese and crackers on the coffee table. "Mr. H., look, we know it's late and everything, but we got a problem."

"Yeah," Rhonda nodded. "You seen, it's like this… we're trying to do what you said and get involved in journalism and stuff."

"But we got a problem with the headline," Paco continued. "You know, the main scoop?"

"Yeah, like, can you help us?" Cyler concluded the request.

Pam let the door fall shut. Tony turned at the sound. "Hey, Mrs. H."

Her smile was forced. "Hey, Tony."

Ralph caught the warning signs. "I'll try to help you if you can make it fast, okay? Now what seems to be the problem?"

"We got these two great headlines and can't decide which one to use," Cyler replied.

"How much quicker can we get than that?" Tony asked.

"All right," Ralph nodded. "Then you just need an opinion. What have you got?"

Rhonda pulled a small notebook from her purse and flipped it open. She read with happy eagerness. "'Whitney Vice Principal's Past Career As Parking Attendant'."

Ralph hung his head. "Rhonda…"

"Or, 'Phys-Ed Department's Locker Room Confessions'."

Tony nodded enthusiastically, pulling a very small instamatic camera from his jacket pocket. "With that one we got pictures. I think we oughta go with it."

"But, man, with the one about the vice principal we got the interview," Cyler reminded him. "Those guys he worked for downtown said he was the best lock-pick they ever seen. They usta call him 'Slim Jim'."

"But we never found out for sure that he was him who broke into all them cars and ripped off the tape decks," Paco countered. "Mr. H., we can't print it if it ain't a documented fact, can we?"

"Guys," Ralph tried to get into the swing. "Guys…"

"We can do it if it's 'speculation'," said Tony. "You know, like the articles about the flying saucers landin' in some guy's back yard. They get good money for that stuff."

"Yeah, Villicana, you believe that and I've got a bridge for sale in New York City. I'm tellin' you, it ain't a documented fact."

"Yeah, man, he knows about that stuff," Cyler agreed. "That's the only thing that kept him outta juvenile hall five, six times."

Ralph still hadn't gotten their attention, and knew this argument was likely to go all night if he didn't break in. "Fellas, hey…"

As the kids argued, Pam stepped in from behind Ralph and tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned to look, she held out her glass of champagne to him. Ralph picked up his own glass and returned the toast, the two glasses touching quietly.

"Happy birthday, hero," Pam smiled.

They sipped the champagne while the kids continued to argue. Everything was back to normal. Pseudo-normal, but normal enough for Ralph.

And he probably wouldn't have wanted his life any other way.

**THE END**

_A/N Thanks to everyone who read, and especially to Ghost In The Machine for calling a continuity error to my attention, which I will fix now that the whole story is up. Glad to see there are still some GAH fans out there!_


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